


Do-Over

by half_sleeping



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-18 10:00:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10614582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/half_sleeping/pseuds/half_sleeping
Summary: A repost from 2008: An alternate imagining of what was going to happen after the future arc.





	

**Author's Note:**

> MILDLY edited, but this is... what I wrote like ten years ago. >_>

Sawada Tsunayoshi is Irie Shouichi’s first friend. They come back from the future and change the past, fourteen or twenty-four and fighting a war across a decade.

But the tenth boss of the Vongola doesn’t like to fight. So his hand reaches out to their would-be murderer, and Irie takes it with a gratitude that Tsuna remembers from not so long ago.

Irie comes quite naturally into the heart of the Vongola. Lambo plays with him, Yamamoto keeps his thoughts locked behind his smile and acts around Irie as he usually does to schoolmates, friendly and distant. Irie learns about the events of ten years on in bits and pieces, by order of the tenth.

Gokudera hates him on second sight. The bastard clings to Tenth like a leech, shunning everyone in his efforts to stay close to him.

Sawada Tsunayoshi is Irie’s _only_ friend.

“It pisses me off so much,” snarls Gokudera to Yamamoto, and the other boy looks at him strangely. “He’s got such a fucking bad attitude,” complains Gokudera. “Does he think he’s the only damn person whom Tenth’s nice to? He’s completely stifling Tenth with his- _what’s so damn funny, baseball-freak?_ ”

“Nothing, nothing,” says Yamamoto, slicing raw fish slowly, slowly, the muscles moving in his arms like fish under water. “Just- go talk to him, okay? Don’t keep it bottled up.”

“I refuse to receive interpersonal advice from _you_ ,” says Gokudera flatly, and helps him stack black-and-red boxes with unnecessary vehemence.

.0.

Irie jealously claims one of Tenth’s sides in any arrangement, and Gokudera hates feeling like he’s taking Yamamoto’s place whenever the other boy accedes with a graceful shrug. The little jerk glares guiltily at them, like he has some right to be angry at them for being around.

Gokudera calls Irie outside, one day, brings him to the Tenth’s backyard and relives, for neither the first nor the last time, the awesome and terrifying urge to damn everything and smash Irie Shouichi’s face into the wall until it’s a shattered pulp. (The first was to an older, harder face, and as to the last who knows?)

“What?” says Irie.

Gokudera merely stares at him emphasizing, the way he’s learned to, the fact that scrawny though he may be, Irie’s a damn sight scrawnier, and Gokudera is strong, beaten scrap metal. Is it beneath him? Gokudera doesn’t care. Irie Shouichi is of the Millefiore.

The younger boy flinches, despite himself. “You-you-what?”

“Don’t be so damn clingy onto Tenth,” Gokudera tells him, and Irie’s eyes go wide and racing. “Just because he’s nice to you, don’t-“

“I won’t,” says Irie, low and deadly, then babbles. “You-you think that just because you’re a little tough you can tell me what to do? I-I don’t know why he even bothers with you, he’s so good and you just- you’re just-“

“ _Shut up_ ,” says Gokudera, caught somewhere between rage and déjà vu. “Good? Yeah, he’s good. He’s so good and kind and trusting and you took advantage of that, you asshole, when he went to negotiate in good faith and you fucking pigs killed him!”

“No,” says Irie automatically, and Gokudera can see him thinking, _no I would never, no I would not,_ and _was this what Tsuna said he found in the future_. But he has, he _has_.

“Yes,” says Gokudera cruelly. “Do you know why he’s your friend now? Because he thinks you can change, that you deserve a chance. Because he thinks you can make a normal person out of a monster and-“

“I’m not like that-“ _those things that Tsuna says he’s seen_ “I’ll never be like that!”

“You are,” says Gokudera, relentless. “You were the one who planned to kill him and did those things he won’t tell you about! I couldn’t protect him then-“ because Gokudera is honest, even if it hurts him so, “But I won’t let you do that here!”

“Didn’t do such a great job if I killed him, did you?” throws back Irie, and standing before Gokudera is the shade of the Millefiore’s captain, always sharp, so sharp. Irie isn't just a frightened teen.

“He’s everything to me,” hisses Gokudera. “Everything. I’ll never let you hurt him.”

“I don’t want to hurt him,” says Irie. “He-he’s my only friend. You-you don’t know what it’s like, always being alone until-“

 _I do_ , Gokudera wants to scream at him. _I know all about only having one person at last, at fucking last, and how that one person becomes your whole damn world._ Instead, he says, “You don’t fucking know what I’ll do to keep him safe.”

“He’s my friend too,” says Irie, small and fragile and the future commander of armies. “You’re not the only one who wants to keep him safe.”

Gokudera lifts his fist almost without realizing it, because how dare he, _how dare he_ \- Yamamoto catches it lightly, pulls Gokudera away.

“Irie-kun,” he says levelly, “Tsuna’s looking for you. Go.”

Irie does. Yamamoto turns the hose on Gokudera, and splashes his own face.

( _I won’t waste it_ , whispers Gokudera to Yamamoto, or the water that drips off his face like rain. _I won’t waste my second chance_.)

.0.

Gokudera’s not sure how they get from that to this, bent over blueprints and schematics with Irie and the freak who’s carrying on a love affair with an entire country.

After all, Gokudera has to rebuild the Sistema C.A.I from memory. And Irie is already plotting out the Melone Base. There is work to be done, as long as Verde will refuse to watch where his research goes. The Vongola cannot police the box trade, but they can dominate it, pre-empting the weapons war.

Let that be enough, prays Gokudera, let them have crippled that nightmare future once and for all.

Gokudera keeps his eye on Irie, which is easy enough to do. The storm guardian is jack of all trades but master of none, not Yamamoto and Hibari’s clean, culpritless killings, not Irie and Spanner’s delicate workings in weapons of war, not Chrome and Haru’s sweet smiles as they wring the rival families dry. Gokudera has his hand in everything, won't relax, can't let go. 

The Tenth’s right-hand man. He’ll keep him safe, from everything.

.0.

One day Spanner unveils a piano-playing robot with the fervency of a fanatic.

“Of course the real aim is to demonstrate the flame engine core, but-“ Spanner can never resist the urge to show off his babies. “It’s just as good as a human.”

Almost everybody’s eyes slide to Gokudera; he bares his teeth at Yamamoto, Ryohei and Lambo, all smirking, the bastards. Tenth is hiding his smile, though his eyes sparkle at Gokudera with the ease of beloved familiarity. Of course, neither Irie nor Spanner know.

Spanner has his baby deliver Chopin’s Nocturne. It’s- pretty good, considering that Spanner spends half-an-hour telling them that the pieces aren’t programmed into the machine.

“Let’s compare, shall we?” laughs Haru. “Haru wants to hear it!”

“Go screw yourselves, the lot of you,” Gokudera grumbles without heat. “Ah, except you, Tenth, but the rest of you can go to hell.”

“Gokudera, you play?” says Irie, a touch incredulous.

“My baby cannot be surpassed,” says Spanner loyally.

“Yeah,” says Gokudera, shrugging off his jacket. “Used to.”

“He’s very good,” said Tenth, more loyally still. “Um, not that your robot isn’t amazing too, Spanner-san…”

When Gokudera finishes, beautiful golden notes fading out pure and strong, there’s Tenth’s lovely golden smile, his family all warm and laughing, even Spanner tilting his head to the imperfect science of art. The only off note is Irie’s silent, closed face, his hands clenched into fists.

.0.

Why is he so damn perfect? Irie doesn’t know, and wishes he didn’t care.

Gokudera Hayato, the Vongola’s storm guardian and Tsuna’s right-hand man, brilliant, handsome, influential, strong. He even plays the damn piano, tosses around his talent off handedly without regard. He’s the sort of person Irie had hated in school- _is_ the person whom Irie had hated in school, so different from little dorky geeks like Irie- was. Is.

But what Irie hates now about Gokudera is the way the older boy is always watching him, waiting for him to slip up. Waiting for him to suddenly turn evil (perhaps through inoculation, or maybe treachery’s an airborne disease) and turn against Tsuna. Never giving him a chance.

If Irie allowed himself to be sharp enough to cut himself, then he would say that he is jealous of Gokudera; not out of self-pity, but out of fear- no one is closer to Tsuna than Gokudera, even among the guardians, and Irie fears that someday Tsuna will realize what Gokudera thinks he does, how unworthy Irie is- that someday Tsuna will turn away.

.0.

One would think that the further one gets from one’s memories, the more they would fade, and vice-versa- but the closer they get to the future, the more the memories blur. Yamamoto’s smiling face becomes overlapped with Yamamoto’s scarred one, and Tsuna and Gokudera barely bat an eye each when it finally appears, slashed into his skin. Similarly, Irie’s face becomes confused with the face of a Millefiore captain, and he takes, tactfully, to never again wearing white jackets or tops without something dark to cover up. 

Tsuna’s relief is almost palatable. Quiet Chrome, too, breathes a sigh of release, her face relaxing under her patch. Do Gokudera and Yamamoto really not notice it, though they don't change the way they treat him to his face? The way they tense when Irie dresses like that, ready for an enemy that will never be.

.0.

Someone has decided to raid the Vongola’s Japanese facility. This, Irie decides, is incredibly, enormously stupid: in Japan there are always at least two guardians, one of whom is invariably Hibari Kyouya. For today the other is Gokudera Hayato, here on his periodic visits to remind Irie that he’s still on his second chance.

Irie can’t help but feel more than a touch like a god, commanding squads, directing operatives. The people are probably Gesso family- not pushovers, but not worth calling the boss over, either. (Irie also can’t help but feel pity for those who are going to fall foul of Spanner’s ‘children’, but if not, Spanner has a gun.)

But through it all Gokudera Hayato stands watching, superimposing his destroyed future over _everything_ and- and- Irie is tired of always being on his last chance with this guy.

Tsuna has given him a chance, however unknowingly, but Tsuna gives enough slack to hang himself, and sometimes no other. ( _I will never betray you)_

“I’m going to use the Mellone Box,” he tells what basically amounts to empty air. “To drive them towards the second squad or Hibari-san.”

Gokudera shrugs. Ever since the one time he nearly lifted his fist to Irie, Gokudera has been cool, distant- and suspicious. Always, suspicious.

 _Look all you want_ thinks Irie, moving his hands over the controls. _I have nothing to hide_.

.0.

A negotiation with the Giglio Nero, a sniper waiting outside.

And Gokudera- Gokudera _damn it all to hell_ is too late, the bullet, just one bullet, heading straight for the boss- no. Irie Shouichi, where it takes him in the shoulder instead of the Tenth in the heart.

And- And- That’s all, really. Gokudera sitting with Irie after Tenth has left them, to talk the family out of wiping the Giglio Nero from the face of the earth.

It’s been ten years, or nine years, ten months.

“I still haven’t killed him,” says Irie, defiantly.

“No,” says Gokudera, and buries his face in his hands. “You-you- thank you- thank-“ he breaks off, because it was so close, _so close_ , for both of them. And it was not Gokudera who protected him.

“I didn’t do it for you,” says Irie.

“I know,” says Gokudera. “I know."

“Did I finally pass my second chance?” mutters Irie. 

“You never needed a second one,” murmurs Gokudera, laughs because the irony, _the irony._

_You got it right the first time._

-end-


End file.
